


And whiskey is for business...

by weeo



Series: I dried my silent tears with alcohol [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Peaky Emergency Response Challenge, Season/Series 05, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, smut and hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2020-11-01 10:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20813375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeo/pseuds/weeo
Summary: When actual business mingles with business of the heart...Peaky Emergency Response Fic Challenge: Episode 5 & 6 (s5 spoilers)





	1. The plants are thirsty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TinyPineTrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyPineTrees/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I received minor bad news Thursday (of the last week) while I was actively trying to find something clever to write for ep5 response fic. I was a bit preoccupied and found nothing, so I just thought the best way to treat myself was to be totally consciously delusional, again. (that's what I wrote before the season finale and Alfie's return, now I feel like a clown who’s posting something too late lol)
> 
> I just added a few things into the dialogues and details about Alfie’s home (I had already chosen that Alfie’s home would look like the promo pic in which we see Tommy seated in an armchair, so the clutter was already there haha...)
> 
> It's in two parts, the first one is for episode 5 and the second for episode 6. It's also a sequel to my ep3 response fic "Rum is for fun and fucking". If you haven't read it, there are only some details you might not understand. 
> 
> Thank you to the lovely @tinypinetrees for her vital help during this whole challenge. I don’t know if I would have been brave enough to post something without her help, so this is a gift for her <3 (and for other reasons she’ll know about while reading...)

The grey clouds roll agitatedly through the sky, hurried by the worrying darkness hounding them. The swell whips the rocks on the cliff, embracing them with all their voluptuousness. The wind rises. The high grass bordering the pathway already panics, alerting Tommy that he’d better leave now. But, he only just arrived.

After Alfie’s last visit at the Garrison, Tommy received another telegram, with a meaning no less obscure than the previous ones.

_ Thirsty plants, even lost in the mirages of an infinite desert, can always have a glass of rum to clarify their feverish vision. (A dinner is fine too.) _

Beyond the clear carnal invite, the accuracy of the message sent shivers down his spine. Lost in the mirages… It can only be a coincidence...

Somehow Alfie always knew. He could pinpoint things he couldn’t have guessed at, yet somehow foresaw. Were they just that? Guesses? Or does he just know, unconsciously? 

All Tommy is sure of is that it’s slowing him down, and that he is nowhere nearer to uncovering the truth, since he’d never lower himself to ask. Even now, a few days later, he finds himself stuck in front of Alfie’s doorstep on the coast of Margate.

His response had been pretty straightforward, masterful in an ease Tommy hadn’t quite felt. 

_ Your house. Wednesday, 7pm. Drive back after dinner. _

It’s unquestionably clear and unequivocal. There is no room for doubt, but Tommy still can’t fathom why he’s so reluctant to knock.

He pulls on the chain hanging off his vest, fumbling as it slips in his sweaty hands, and checks his pocket watch. 

_ Fuck, 6.55pm. _ It would look fucking desperate if he knocks now. He’s not usually one to be late, but on this precise day, he really wishes he was. 

He waits, hands in his pockets, taunted by the loud ticking of his bloody watch. The realization hits him that, if Alfie heard his car, he’s currently making even more of a fool of himself. His feet hardly stay still, craving to turn back and leave this place. 

Instead, he sighs and takes a cigarette out of its case. He takes another look at his pocket watch, as he lights it. The longer locks on the top of his head ruffle in the building wind, twirling in front of his eyes and making it difficult to read the tiny numbers.

_ 6.56pm. _

_ Fuck. _ He gazes at the clock hand turning torturously slowly. One more turn of the dial before 6.57pm.

Screw it, he’s not waiting four endless minutes more like this. He goes up the step and knocks at the door, far too violent and frantic for such a casual visit. 

Tommy is discovering that this familiar awkward feeling tying his stomach isn’t only due to Alfie’s actual presence, but to his aura. It’s even more tormenting when he knows he’s around and could show up at any second.

Tommy jumps when the door brusquely opens, as if he hadn’t expected someone to answer. 

“Oh, Tommy, that’s you! Well, I heard the car and thought you’d gone and lost yourself on my tiny path. You’re only little. All this wind and all, easy to fly away, innit?”

Tommy is fixating him, feeling mildly insulted, but mostly gripped by the need to know what to do in this situation.

Should he nod? Shake hands? Kiss? Just saying Good Evening? How do you say hello to a former business partner you’ve fucked a few times, and who’s a fucking prick on top of that?

It’s not written in any books. No one explains what to do before sending you on this long, winding road. And yet, this is the type of all-consuming embarrassment you would have needed explanations before. 

The eyes that uncontrollably look away, the hands that feel like inconvenient limbs you’d never experimented with before. Tommy clings to the only familiar gesture left to keep his composure. Smoking. 

The peak of his cap shades his eyes too much for him to watch Alfie closely, so he focuses on smoothly exhaling the smoke.

What’s worse about all of this is that Alfie doesn’t seem unsettled, but he just stands there, looking like he was contemplating something slightly amusing with his stupid grin.

So, among the multitude of choices to say hello, Tommy goes for… nothing. He crushes his cigarette on the floor and passes the door without being invited to, brushing Alfie’s body while entering into the lobby. 

“Alright, make yourself at home.” Alfie says, confusion mingling his cheerful tone.

Tommy continues on his way without looking back, despite having no idea of where he’s going. 

“Yeah, just right here, mate.” Alfie raises his arm, waving his hand nonchalantly at him, before closing the door.

Tommy ignores the already distant direction, and enters what seems like a living room, if you disregard the cluster of roughly assorted odds and ends. There are a parrot under glass, a shiny-eyed lizard and several animal skulls littering the room. Despite them all being dead, he felt oddly watched.

Tommy isn’t a great expert in decoration, let’s just say that he doesn’t care a hoot about it as long as the size of the paintings gave him a bit more height. But this clutter, resembling to a cabinet of curiosities or a flea market, puzzles him.

He would even dare to think that Alfie’s whole house looks like it belongs to an old grandma, who does divination as a pastime and is above the vaine considerations of death. Which, time has proven cynically well, isn’t that far from the truth after all. 

At the sole exception of the old grandma bit, since he also knows that Alfie is still in shape enough to ruthlessly pin him down on empty bar counters. 

Tommy keeps scanning the clutter in the living room, the bookshelves full of cyrillic publications, the collection of canes, the big thick curtains with colorful arabesques, the dead crow on the clock and the electric candles. 

“Really clever this tiny beast,” Alfie points, seeing Tommy’s eyes lingering a bit on the crow, before grumbling the second part of his sentence, “nothing to do with fucking horses…” 

Framed by gildings and mouldings, the paintings depict flowers and other artistic landscapes, but not one face. Not Alfie’s. Not family’s either. And the more Tommy looks at the room, the more he discovers piles and piles of dusty books and peculiar oddities. It’s gloomy, old and overloaded, like the storeroom of an antiquarian filing his lifelong loneliness with invasive objects. 

“Want a drink?” Alfie asks, interrupting Tommy’s wandering eyes.

“Yes, whiskey. Irish.”

Alfie pauses, processing Tommy’s words, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say Alfie was giving him a slightly menacing look. But, he’s known Alfie enough to recognize when he was annoyed though. 

“Well, whiskey it is today.” Alfie mumbles, as he heads towards the little bar, where a few bottles stand, waiting for the rare guests. Tommy understands there aren’t many, or they aren’t drinkers. The bottles are nearly all full. He even suspects than most of them are new… bought a few days ago for a special occasion. 

“Nice little speech he did at your house, ‘your friend’.” Alfie emphasizes the last words, pouring Tommy’s drink in a glass. “Jews invading the world with their long pointy noses and stealing all the gold, medals and big fucking houses of the very, very respectable people like him. Fucking ridiculous.” He continues, pausing in his pouring to gesture widely with his arms.

Alfie comes back to Tommy, who’s still standing.

“Let me tell you Tommy, this man is evil.” He hands Tommy the glass.

“I’m going to take him down. That’s the plan.” Tommy takes a sip as he finishes his sentence. 

“Fucking hell, Tommy…” Alfie sneers, as he lets himself fall into his armchair. “Still at these silly gang wars with a bunch of idiots, right?”

He leaves the question hanging in the air, Alfie’s gaze feeling heavy on Tommy’s limbs as he sits across him. He takes a cigarette out of its case and rolls it in his mouth.

“Hard to escape them when you’re not dead, eh?” He says, before lighting it and leaning against the backrest.

A shame for Alfie, Tommy’s not drunk today and remembered how to talk back since the last time they met, but it’s not like he’s impressed by that kind of challenge. 

“Oh, being dead, mate, is a spiritual state of mind.” Alfie says, raising his hands, elbows bound to the armrests. He pauses, slowly rubbing his fingers against his palm for a few instants. “You could just go to your family meeting and say bye-bye,” He waves with his left hand, “I’ll fuck off, shooting seagulls on the beach indefinitely. And yeah, as crazy as it sounds, nobody actually tries to stop you.” He adds wide-eyed, his tone tinted with far-fetched gravity.

“I have things to do, Alfie.” Tommy says, his words blown in a long sight, as he looks away towards the beach. His thumb taps nervously on his ring finger, just under the two holding his cigarette. 

Tommy hears the little sounds Alfie makes by clicking his tongue disapprovingly a few times, and sees him shaking his head at a slow path in his eyeline.

“Yeah, alright, always on the run I see. ” Alfie mutters. “Trying to escape from the mirages that don’t fade away, ain’t you?”

“Who said anything about fucking mirages?” Tommy turns his head back towards him, irritation frowning his eyebrows.

Alfie sniggers.

“These are things you see on people’s face, Tommy. But, yeah, I’m not so surprised you have no interest in the subtleties of divination. I mean, you know, you were hardly looking at my face _ that _ day, to shoot like... _ that _.” Alfie points his scar, waving his finger to show the whole extent of it. 

Tommy doesn’t say a word, so he continues.

“Well, you should probably open your eyes wider when it comes to that fascist cunt’s face. It must tell things you don’t already know about the future, mate.”

“That, I have no doubts... Will you help me then?”

Tommy swallows down his whiskey as Alfie watches his mouth. He did it again, didn’t he? His tongue,_ fuck _. It’s not that he isn’t pleased that Alfie is that easy to seduce, but he would prefer to at least do it intentionally.

“Hmm, fucking whiskey it was…” Alfies scratches his beard. “Why don’t we talk about business later, alright? Let’s have a bit of food first. You’re all pale skin and tiny bones. You look like you haven’t eaten properly for days, and well, I don’t want you, you tiny thing, fainting on my fucking carpet, do I?”

Tommy sighs.

“Yeah, Tommy, come here.” Alfie stands from his armchair and motions for Tommy to follow him.

* * *

Alfie didn’t take this dinner invitation lightly. There’s plenty of dishes on the table, enough to feed an army.

Alfie bombarded him with information and made him taste everything on the table . Tommy can only remember a few names and the appearance of the ones he liked the most. Latkes, the little potato pancakes. He ate a couple of them. Knish, and also the sweet tender beef he has no idea of the name. 

He tries to be cautious with his tongue, mindful of where it dances over his lips. In an uncharacteristic move, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when it’s necessary. 

But he quickly realizes he must’ve failed too many times, after biting into a slice of bread or taking a spoonful of soup. He recognizes the little spark in Alfie’s eyes, when he gazes intently at his mouth.

He can only imagine what Alfie might think. Might say. And his cock grows desperately at the thought, suffocating in his now too tight pants. 

He would hold his chin and tell him to put his lovely tongue back in his pretty mouth. Or worse. 

Tommy can nearly see his lips moving, murmuring “or put it to good use when it’s out”. But thank God, it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. For the moment, at least...

Alfie stands from his chair to clear off a couple of plates on the table.

“I’ve a few pastries for dessert, do you want some?” He asks, emptying the leftovers of a plate in another with a fork, and piling them up.

“I’ve already eaten for days, but I’ll taste the chef’s surprise.”

Tommy thought he would sound clever by saying this, but it sounds terribly humiliating and stupid as soon as it leaves his mouth. Of course, it could be totally innocent. But it’s not. And Alfie might have understood, because he stops moving immediately at Tommy’s words.

Now he started this mess again, terribly badly on top of that, he has to make the first move. So, Tommy stands up and walks towards him, who hasn’t moved an inch. Alfie is so focused on Tommy, that he misses a piece of meat with its sauce is sliding from the plate, landing drop-by-drop on the tablecloth.

He wants to touch him, but has no idea where to put his hands. They’re trembling, as if he was doing this for the very first time. 

He poses his left hand delicately above Alfie’s collarbone, pressing lightly against the flesh, before venturing down his neck and shoulders with soft touches. Tommy moves his head forward to kiss the skin. But before he can touch it, Alfie drops everything he has in his hands to corner Tommy between his body and the table.

Alfie tilts his chin up with one hand and kisses him, less urgently than the last time at the Garrison but more desperately. His hot tongue wraps around Tommy’s, sharing how much he missed this. Voicing silently how much he missed Tommy, in the complete absence of words which could express it.

Alfie’s hands quickly find their way under Tommy’s shirt, squeezing at his chest as he pulls him closer. He trails his hands on Tommy’s sides and then, grabs his bum, lifting him violently to make him sit on the table. There isn’t even an ounce of resistance when he spreads Tommy’s legs and pushes himself between his thighs. As if he was returning to his rightful place. 

“I kicked all the staff out for tonight, they won’t come back before tomorrow.” Alfie mutters in his ear, catching Tommy’s cautious side-eye towards the door of the living room. 

“I’ll have left long before tomorrow.” Tommy murmurs. 

Tomorrow. He meets Mosley to set a few things before the rally and he already can’t bear the idea of seeing his disgusting face again, listening carefully to his disguised threats and condescending philosophy references. He yells the same lies his generals used to console their soldiers with on the battlefields. Tonight, after this fight, England’s past glory will shine again they were always told, but there were just more battles and more wars, more mud and more blood...

And every fucking day, Tommy is caught between the irrational frenzy of taking Mosley and his dangerous message down, and the self-reflection of his sleepless nights, when he doesn’t see the point of carrying on with any of it.

Tommy feels his mind is spiraling once again and he can’t keep it from turning on itself. His blinding hate and gutting fear leading him to wonder where he actually is, when Alfie pulls away from his lips. 

"What do you want, Tommy? I need to hear it again, with other words.”

Tommy is lost in his mind, confused by Alfie’s request. “What is he even talking about?” he wonders, freezing.

“Eh? What was it you want? Just tell me.”

Tommy answers the only thing that makes sense at the moment: “I need your help.”

Alfie pushes him back slightly to see his face properly. Tommy rubs his hand on the back of his nape, in an uncharacteristically bashful move.

“I need your help to kill Mos-” He hardly whispers.

“Fucking hell, do you think this is the right moment?” Alfie steps back, separating himself from Tommy.

“Just listen.” Tommy says, raising his hand in an attempt to calm Alfie down.

“It’s fucking no. Categorical.”

"I'm bloody serious, Jesus Christ." Tommy says, hitting the table with his fist.

“Well, you ask that at this fucking exact moment, and you think I won’t ask myself : ‘Is this silly boy just fucking with me?’, eh? I thought I had been pretty fucking clear when I said retirement.” 

“You didn’t want to talk about it before the dinner, during and now after, so fucking when?” 

“Ok, you know what? Fuck off! Fuck you, and your fucking nonsense. That’s why you came, innit?... Yeah, that’s why you fucking came… That’s what you’ve always done, using people for your own personal benefit.”

It was daring for Alfie to say that, actually, but Tommy wasn't in a state to object. Alfie’s words hit Tommy in the face and he feels distraught, abandoned by this last drop of hope.

“I should drive back.” Tommy picks up his coat on the back of his chair and runs away from Alfie’s words.

Alfie pinches the bridge of his nose and is prepared to hear a loud bang echoing through the room, after Tommy passed the door. But nothing. Just the unbearable silence lightly shattered by the heavy wind stirring the door, creaking and banging against the wall. He heard the car door being slammed from afar, but ever since, the purrs of the engine are lacking in the soundscape. Especially the purrs of an engine disappearing in the background, far far away from him and his ordinarily peaceful fucking house. 

“What are you doing, Tommy? Just fucking leave.” Alfie grunts between his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t supposed to be like that AT ALL. But these two idiots had a fight in the midst of my fic…. haha
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. The second part will be posted really soon.


	2. His face is like the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> 'The second part will be posted really soon.'  
I know..... I'm a clown. 
> 
> Probably nobody remembers this story, because it took me so long to write this second and final part. As an apology, I'm throwing you a 8K words really self-indulgent H/C and smutty chapter, that I hope you will like.
> 
> (I borrowed the title of this chapter to one of Madeline Miller's 'The song of Achilles' passage, that I've absolutely adored reading a few weeks ago)

Alfie scratches his beard, waiting patiently for the sound of the engine to herald Tommy’s departure, and still nothing. Not a damn sound.

_ What the fuck is he doing? _

It’s been too long, and Alfie is damn sure that no man on earth takes this much fucking time to turn the key in the ignition. He hurries to the front door, frustrated, and annoyingly alarmed by the infuriating prick. He can’t even leave like a normal, sensible man would. 

Alfie stands out his doorstep, as a gust of wind sweeps across his face and folds his hair back. 

Tommy’s still there, in his car. His hands are gripped around the wheel. The peak of his cap conceals his gaze, but without a shadow of a doubt, Alfie can see that he’s stuck. He watches as Tommy’s thoughts whirl tortuously in his mind. Maybe it’s in the way Tommy’s clasping the steering wheel !? He’s all rigid lines and edginess, with none of his usual calm facade. Or is it how his shoulders are tensed, making it barely possible to spot his shallow breathing? 

He knows Tommy is drowning. He can see it. No matter how much he flounders, his limbs don't move an inch. 

Alfie walks down the porch stairs, his feet cracking against the steps, loud and determined as he reaches the car. His anger morphs into concern, the two emotions mingling quickly. He wants to grab Tommy by his vest and shake him until he comes to his senses. The problem is that he can see how pale his fingers are beneath his tight grasp. He can also see how thin and emaciated his wrists are, and how they tremble, threatening to snap at any moment under the strain Tommy puts himself under. Tommy grits his teeth so hard that Alfie can practically hear them gnash as he clenches his jaw tighter still.  _ The idiot will knock out one of his teeth if he continues like that _ , Alfie grumbles to himself as he storms toward the car. 

Tommy tightens his grip further on the wheel, as Alfie's figure appears in the rear view mirror. The shameful feeling that he may have been too hard on Tommy, brushes over his skin.

_ Something wasn’t right. _

Well, it was already shocking enough that Tommy asked for help with Mosley, but Alfie still doesn’t know what to think about him showing an actual weakness. His face was telling things and it sure as shit seemed that he needed help with a lot more than just this fascist cunt. 

This though. This was particularly unusual. 

Tommy isn’t acting like a fucking robot for once and it was borderline sending shivers down his spine. Maybe that was just the wind ? An insufferable icy wind, running down his back and freezing him from the inside. The idiot hadn’t given Alfie a second to throw a coat on! No! Not at all. It would have been far too fucking good.Tommy chose instead to grow alarmingly silent, not start the goddamn car and not leave like he should have. 

How could Alfie have stayed seated in his nice, peaceful living room, drinking his tea, as his door clapped against his fine wall and a little annoying guest stood in his yard, waiting for God knows what so he could fuck off?

As much as Alfie wants to convince himself otherwise, he knows he has every fucking right to be mad at Tommy. All this bloody nonsense was coming from nowhere, but what pained him the most, even if he would keep it to himself, was that he tried to use him.  _ Fucking unacceptable. _

What was he thinking really? That Alfie would take a machine gun and shoot Mosley for him, with his broken back and his pirate eye? How ridiculous does that sound? 

Alfie instinctively touches the scar cutting across the puffy flesh on his cheek.

He’s missed most of the seagulls he’s aimed at since he lost his dominant eye. He keeps aiming, he keeps pulling the trigger, but he keeps missing. Bullets echo along the shell of his ears and he sees the lifeless birds dive into the water. He swears he could see their shadows standing out in the blinding sun falling downward. The bullet shrieks as it sails over the sea, and is engulfed beneath ruthless waves, mocking Alfie with a silent impact as the seagull cries on and flaps its wings.  _ Out of rang _ e, Alfie curses by reflex, between his clenched teeth.

Every goddamn day proves to him that he’s not what he used to be. He knows that, there’s no need for some beautiful idiot to come into his house to remind him. He thought he had made his peace with what he can’t do anymore, so why does his heart feel like it’s squeezing in his chest?

Alfie finally reaches the car and bends down to peek his head through the open window. 

“What are you fucking doing?” Alfie’s hand hits the edge of the window loudly, and he pushes half into the car, staring closely at Tommy.

Tommy backs away slightly at the sudden intrusion, just enough for Alfie to notice the creeping fear and widening eyes. There’s a choking, trapped sound coming from his throat as well.

_ Fucking hell _ , it must be worse than he thought. Tommy just doesn’t back down like that. He  _ never _ backs down like that. Alfie would have accepted being shoved at, or being spat in the face, which are both far more proper reactions for the rude little thing, but he’s fucking backed down. 

_ Disconcerting _ . It’s what that is. 

Alfie notices that the bottom of Tommy’s shirt is still untucked, reminding Alfie of the moment his hands has slipped beneath, caressing his soft skin. When everything felt right. He’s sure though that Tommy would never go outside in this state of undress, if he was as sane as he pretended. The fancy prick is far too self-conscious about how he’s perceived. Climbing the social ladder, proper and masked, waltzing under crystal chandeliers at masquerade balls every goddamn second of his life, his slender body adorned in impeccable pristine suits. He is the well-designed puppet in the calculated show, orchestrated by his own perfidious and grim mind. 

He wants to calm down. He really wants to, but Tommy doesn’t fucking answer. He’s as silent as a grave and is once again wearing his cold mask of indifference. How can a man calm down when his infuriating guest doesn't even have the decency to answer a fucking simple question? 

“Why are you still here, eh? Haven’t I been fucking clear enough? I already told you. You won’t have what you fucking came for, so fuck off of my property!” Alfie shouts as he fumes, spitting viciously as rage blooms again. 

Tommy blinks slowly, taking far too long as he weights every word. 

“Of course not.” he ends up saying quietly.

_ It still doesn’t make any bloody sense, for fuck’s sake _ . Alfie has no idea which goddamn bit of his sentence had caught his volatile attention. _ Is it so hard to understand that other people aren’t in his head and can’t follow his thoughts, that he just has to fuckin’ talk and say the goddamn words?  _

“Of course not what?” Alfie yells, almost as loudly as he had a moment ago.

Alfie hits the window-sill once again, trying to break Tommy’s stillness and force him to answer. 

Tommy flinches at the loud echoing sound, shocked into silence. Finally, he opens his mouth. He’s barely a fraction faster than Alfie, saving him from losing it and shouting things he’d have regret later.

“Of course, I didn’t come for that.” Tommy clarifies, his words brushing on Alfie’s skin like feathers and appeasing the burning fire devouring his entrails.

It’s fucking hazy and unclear, and yet, Alfie understands. It’s because it’s what he was longing to hear, alright? He steps back to take a deep breath and relieve his back. A pain runs down the left side of him from bending into the car. He stays quiet, taking a moment to cool down and adjust his tone the best he can.

“Well, alright. So, for fucking what? What was all that stupid nonsense about, mate?” Alfie points his finger at the house, shaking it as he grunts at the end of his sentence unintelligibly.

Tommy lets go of the steering wheel, sighing. He drops his head and rubs his rough hands harshly on his face.

Alfie knows this situation only too well. Just like Tommy, he knows that people don’t want to hear the truth. Nobody is interested in their woes. Tommy must have noticed that pretty quickly. He made a name for himself by carefully concealing what was malfunctioning, the pains crushing his heart in pieces and the dreams only easing with the floaty resin scented smoke that constricts the throat. He hides how worn his feet are from all the barefoot walks to school and the months without taking his damp shoes off, crawling in the slippery and sticky mud like fucking pigs. How his skin is crinkled from where shrapnel exploded past and bullets shot by a man —still gifted with his dominant eye— had found their way in.

Tommy, who snuck into High Society, like a rat in the heart of the huge londonian restaurants sewers, knows far too well how the truth never interested anybody. He’s watched the faces in front of him twitch as he spoke too many times. Now he only has misfortune to tell, he is deadly silent. He knows no one will listen.

Only a few are ready to see the stifling mud packed into his throat, well hidden beneath his silky skin and his haunting blue eyes.

Only a few will try to look closer.

“Just tell me, alright? I can hear it.” Alfie lowers the volume of his voice. It’s still firm, but he tries to envelop Tommy in reassurance and trust with his quiet words.

_ Don’t back down again, Tommy. _

When Tommy finally lifts his gaze to look at him, Alfie is startled by the image taking shape before his eyes. Tommy isn’t quite crying and he isn’t even sure he’s about to, but his shiny eyes are carrying the weight of the silent tears that had never poured down his cheeks. 

"I have no idea what to do and I can't get it out of my fucking mind." Tommy’s lips are trembling as he lets the truth spill from his lips. “Some nights, I ask myself why I keep going, but I can’t even afford to stop.”

_ Well, that’s quite a day. _

“Alright, treacle, listen to me. I know you’ve lost a lot lately. The Stock Market Crash and all this silly stuff you like so much to stick your lovely nose in. And I know,” he lifts his hands, prepared for a protest or a small look of aversion concerning his next words “you’re only little, but you’ve got over far tougher things, ain’t ya?”

Weirdly, Alfie doesn’t even see an ounce of hostility or annoyance, it’s something else that is wrinkling Tommy’s features and twirling in his eyes. A long silence hangs in the air before Tommy starts talking again.

“I didn’t mean that and you know it. It’s about the ghosts. The dead hanging over me head. You saw them shredded in pieces in the mud. And all those fucking mirages. I don’t want to go back. I can’t go fucking back.”

Alfie hadn’t realized the situation had worsened that fast. Tommy dissolves before his eyes, choking on short ragged breaths, like he was buried in some fucking tunnels or something. He loosens the knot of his tie with both of his hands, before pulling it over his head to take it off. He puts it on the passenger seat, but doesn't let it go. He clings to it, squeezing the soft silky fabric in his left hand, as he opens the first buttons of his shirt collar. Sniffing, he settles his agitated arms in his seat, probably the only position he’s found that opens his lungs enough to breathe.

“For fuck’s sake, calm down! No one’s gonna make you fuckin’ go back anywhere, Tom.” 

“He will. He fucking will.”, he hits the horn in the steering wheel as if it was the period at the end of his sentence, and his curled lips show how clenched his teeth are. The sound from the horn is shrill, and Alfie is glad he has no nosy neighbours to wake up, no neighbours at all even. He starts to wonder how this scene would look from the perspective of an uninitiated stranger, what subtext they would read from it.

Tommy closes his eyes tightly. He brings his hand to the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, preventing his tears from spilling down his cheeks.

He's on the edge of breaking. 

The shutter on the windows slam intermittently as the wind blows more on the coast, shattering the silence in their conversation. The branches on the rare trees vibrate and creak, and are as much on the brink of collapsing as Tommy’s confidence. Alfie needs to solve it before it falls and crashes against the ground.

“Why are you hurting yourself like this?” Alfie brings his hand nearer and strokes Tommy’s shoulder gently. When Tommy finally moves his hand, Alfie discovers that his attempt to hold back his tears hasn’t been a total success. His eyes are as wet as they can be, tears threatening to fight their way on his cheeks at any moment. Tommy might have felt awkward with Alfie’s staring, because he quickly wipes off his eyes with his arm.

"Do you still want me?" Tommy asks in all seriousness, eyes shifting to the side as he’s waiting for Alfie's answer. 

For once, Alfie is speechless. His fluid train of thought derails, and suddenly the huge amount of words floating in his head won’t fucking align. 

Well, fuck, he knows how to have a bad fucking timing too.

Tommy sniffs and turns his head away from Alfie's mindful stare, failing to hide the tear that trails down his left cheek. He’s staring off into the distance, focusing on the branches swaying in the wind. He watches as they arc and bend, threatening to snap free from the frail trunk, reminding Alfie of secret lovers fighting to flee from ancient traditions. 

What Tommy is really staring at is lodged in his head and his breathing keeps getting carried away. Alfie can see his agitated thoughts twirling in his skull and their tormenting dance reflecting in the back of his eyes, tearing him apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left.

Alfie grabs his chin, forcing Tommy to face him in a less than gentle move. Tommy jerks, shaking his head and pulling free.

"Look at me." Alfie says coldly. 

Tommy’s jaw is so clenched that his bone structure is stark on his face. His skin is too pale, he’s beginning to look more like a stoic Greek statue. Unlike the statue’s empty gaze though, Tommy’s eyes are dark. They’re bitter and animated by a wildfire that crackles in his pupils. He reminds Alfie of a petulant child, one about to be punished. 

"Fucking look at me, for fuck's sake." Alfie orders, grabbing his chin once again and turning his head. This time, Tommy lets him do it without resisting. 

Tommy's stare is defiant. He’s probably frustrated with Alfie's tone, putting him in his place like he’s a petty fucking child. Another tear glides down his cheek, when he finally looks up.

Taken aback, Alfie loosens the grasp on his chin. He’s still holding it, but with a startling tenderness he hadn’t realized he was capable of. He doesn't notice as his thumb sweeps over Tommy’s chin, caressing his skin with touch as soft as air. It’s the only response he can give though, and he wants to give it. He wants to.

Alfie tries to soothe him, drying the teary trails carrying a distress he doesn’t know how to heal. His flat palm is light on Tommy’s cheeks, sweeping across them gently, one after the other. He takes his chin again to lift his head, carefully this time, and caresses it with his thumb.

“Of course, I still fucking want you. How could I not?” Alfie huffs, low and serious, barely moving his lips.

He bends down, kissing Tommy’s cheeks, still pale and damp from the thin defined trails of tears. Alfie’s overwhelmed again. This strange feeling made him loosen his grip on Tommy’s chin, and now he wants to dry the silent tears buried inside him. Every one of them, one by one if he needed to. 

Alfie begins by kissing a loving journey over Tommy’s face, spreading a cascade of kisses that unfurl over every inch of available skin. He endeavors to stick the invisible broken pieces back together. He cups Tommy’s jaw, hoping that holding him lightly will help bond together what remains inside.

Alfie leans back, surveying his handiwork. Tommy’s face is covered with small traces of his love. Every kiss has helped to unclench his tense jaw. It seems to have fought the darkness buried in his head as well. Tommy’s eyes are faintly closed, and he looks peaceful, as though he was immersed in a melody. His long eyelashes rest on his cheeks, and his breathing evens out, rocking his shoulders once again. Alfie feels like he may have actually helped, after all. 

“I just needed you to hold me for a bit... that’s why I came.” Tommy hisses, barely audible. He's as still as a stone, of this absolute stillness that only belongs to him. He doesn’t dare lift his eyelids after admitting such a compromising truth.

Before Alfie knows it, their mouths are fitting together perfectly. As though they’d been carved in this position at the creation of the universe. The kiss is sweet and gentle. It’s exquisitely delicious. Alfie greedily tastes the salt of the sea breeze. It faintly tints the tips of Tommy’s plump lips, brushing tenderly and easily over Alfie’s own.

The rhythm intensifies as their lips caress each other and their hands wander off into each other’s hair, squeezing vigorously and pulling. Their tongues swirl in unison, hot, deep and hungry, melting together like honey. The sweet warmth of Tommy’s throat flows through Alfie, and their foreheads slam so hard at every movement that it hurts. But, well, they couldn’t care less right now, could they?

Tommy seems like he’s experiencing so many contradicting feelings that he’s about to burst. It looks as though they’re tearing him apart from every side. He can’t stop them from creeping out and mingling with the sweat dripping from him. It makes his already bright and shiny skin glow. Tears prickle at Tommy’s eyes and he looks overwhelmed by their carnal efforts. Alfie’s fingers dance down his collarbone, and he can feel Tommy’s heart pounding in his chest. Every touch, every sound seems too much. As though it’s too real and overwhelming. Little tears glide down Tommy’s flushed cheeks, and a moan escapes his lips in between ragged breaths. Tommy is still crying, but for no apparent reason. His skin is burning hot. So hot that it must feel suffocating. It's as if pain and desire were blending together inside in a strange way, creating a feeling he has never experienced before. 

He looks like he wants more. So fucking hard that it’s hurting. 

Tommy pushes him forcefully, breaking their kiss as he steps away. Alfie's eyes widen, and he can't keep the sweet and soft dreamy thoughts from his face as Tommy opens the car door. It takes him a moment to get out, as his hands are trembling hard and slip on the cold metallic handle. 

Tommy throws his arms around Alfie's neck then, sliding his tongue in his mouth and tasting every inch eagerly. Alfie pushes him against the steel frame of the car and a winded sigh echoes from Tommy’s slim body.

He slides his arms down Alfie's neck to wrap his chest in a embrace, tightening and tightening until Alfie pants as breathlessly as him. Alfie can’t help but devour his neck, then his collarbone, occasionally nibbling at the tender skin, to get the chance to hear the sweet noises Tommy tries so hard to cover up. Alfie can feel Tommy's teeth biting on the flesh over his collarbone, and Tommy rocks against him. Alfie knows that Tommy is usually desperate to stay quiet, but he can’t help but grind against Alfie’s already half-hard cock. He craves any kind of contact, as light as it is. He would take anything, so long as it soothes the aching arousal in his lower belly.

Alfie presses more and rocks against him too, heaving a sigh of relief. He slips his hands from Tommy’s frame to grab his balls, massaging them before reaching up and undressing him, beginning by unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Tommy pants and squirms in his arms. Alfie can tell at how his mouth is slightly opened, that he isn’t so far of coming inside his underwear, barely touched, dirty and hasty, as if he was a horny teenager again. Tommy could certainly get over the tears at some point in the future, with a little help. ‘ _ Like silently agreeing to not talk about this little incident _ ,’ Alfie thinks. Apparently though, not the type of embarrassment threatening to mercilessly paint the soft cotton fabric with his sticky cum. The imminence probably makes it feel worse, in some kind of way.

“ Don't-!" Tommy snaps, glowering when a smirk starts creeping over Alfie's lips. A self satisfied glow drips down his back. Tommy  _ really _ couldn’t handle that.

Tommy takes advantage of Alfie’s distracting fixation on his waistcoat buttons to forcefully flip them around. He steps back a bit, using Alfie’s surprise to take his vest and unbuttoned waistcoat off. He slides them off his shoulders with a harsh pull and lets them fall on the ground, as if he was preparing for some stupid fight outside a pub at 2am, wasted and desperate. _ It was kinda that, wasn’t it? _ , Alfie thought. Well, alright, not really that, but not far from it either, for some surprising reasons. First, they weren't outside a pub at 2am. Pretty fucking obvious that one. Who would dare to even make the assumption that his dear home, his little place of heaven could actually get mixed up with these shit holes stinking of puke and sweat, full of rats that certainly weren’t drunk on holy water? No one, right? Alfie could have guessed. Second, Tommy wasn't exactly what he would called wasted, even if his state was pretty fucking alarming if you ask him. Desperate and preparing for a fight though, yes. These, these did sound accurate and carnal enough for his twisted mind.

Tommy throws himself on Alfie, pressing their bodies together and hurling his arms around Alfie’s neck as he devours his lips. Their stiff cocks brush against each other, in a torturously gentle stroke. 

_ It’s not enough _ , and Tommy must have had the same thing in mind, by reason of the fact that he’s now thrusting like a mad man against him, blowing nice little pants inside Alfie’s mouth. Alfie clutches at his ass to pull him closer —if it’s even possible—, and lets his hand wander between Tommy’s cheeks, brushing the crack from the top down with his forefinger over adjusted suit pants. Tommy suddenly pulls free from Alfie’s assaulted mouth, the soft touch making him jerk his hips in one rough satisfying move and dragging a lovely moan from his juicy lips.

Drops of sweat bead on Tommy's forehead, damping the tip of the long locks falling over his mesmerizing eyes, all large dark pupils and fluttering eyelashes. He bites at Alfie’s lips and draws back —just a small step— keeping Alfie’s bottom lip captive between his teeth. He stretches it lightly as he moves, until they’re too far apart and it pulls slowly from his teeth before bouncing back where it belongs. Alfie hums in delight, running his eyes up and down Tommy’s lean pliant figure, curious about where all of this mess is leading them and slightly impatient to be swamped by Tommy’s frenzied desire again. They’re not far from each other. They’re even close, but not enough to avoid feeling the distance heightened by the chilly wind sliping between their bodies and flicking their skin tenderly. 

Eyes both fixated on the other, Tommy flexes his left knee and slowly lowers himself until it reaches the ground. Alfie bends slightly with him, nearly imperceptible, maybe to talk, maybe to put him back on his feet, he doesn’t even have the time to think about it, because Tommy raises his palm in the air to stop him. It’s a clear gesture, simple and sharp. He doesn't say a word, but he doesn't need to, his gaze is doing the talking for him. It’s dark and assertive. The type of look only Alfie can find kinda amusing.

Alfie snorts, but doesn’t move. There is something important playing in this that Alfie feels, but can’t quite say. All he knows is that Tommy's here again. He recognizes him now and Alfie wouldn’t deny him anything after what he witnessed.

It's a restart, and a reset, a wipe on a chalk slate, because that’s when everything started last time, with Tommy willingly agreeing to get on his knees. Tommy bends his second knee, still looking up and blinking slowly. He lowers his open palm unhurried and focused, maintaining his gaze as if he was taking care of some dangerous animal, something similar to a big bear with a silky coat Alfie thinks. Then, Tommy unbuckles Alfie's belt, both hands working in tandem to slide the leather free. He's doing everything with pretty manners and expert touches, but he's unbelievably slow. Finally unzipping Alfie’s fly, Tommy caresses his hard-on through the fabric, and Alfie groans with relief. Tommy pulls Alfie’s pants down bit by bit, followed by his underwear.

He seems to insist on maintaining his gaze and it’s sort of hot, at least it became a lot more than sort of with Tommy continuing to flick his delicate tongue on the tip of Alfie’s stiff cock. He’s not used to being so surprised by the rushes of desire travelling under his skin and contracting his muscles, but Alfie puffs at this lovely sight. A sinful tongue on a hard coke.  _ His _ tongue on his cock.

Tommy must’ve realized —clever little bastard he is— because he flicks his tongue on it again, and then, a smile cracks at the corner of his lips when Alfie’s head bounces against the car, babbling very dirty intelligible things with a hoarse voice.

Alfie can feel when Tommy finally lowers his gaze. His skin is still burning from where Tommy’s eyes wandered over his broad shoulders and across his lips, partially hidden beneath his shaggy beard. He grasps Alfie’s cock and glides it in his mouth. Alfie huffs again, and even groans when Tommy sucks on it, adjusting slightly as he licks the sensitive underside. It’s fucking delightful. Those sweet, soft lips around his dick never fail to force a growl from between his clenched teeth. The dark bags under Tommy's closed eyes emphasize his internal focus, the concentrated look of someone who wants to do well in their task has. He knows where to apply pressure and which pace Alfie likes. He knows that Alfie will moan when he languidly swirls his tongue around the cock in his mouth, lapping at it eagerly.

“Oh, fucking hell, Tommy.” Alfie moans, his hips arching towards Tommy’s mouth as his hand fists his hair, aching to shove himself further inside. Tommy backs down, releasing Alfie’s hard-on, because he supposedly has no intentions of letting him control anything right now. He pushes Alfie back against the car, the door knob presses on his ribs and he loosens his grip on Tommy’s hair.

A few cold raindrops fall onto the tip of Alfie’s nose. He tries ignoring it for a moment, since he has far more pressing concerns right now, doesn’t he? It’s intensifying at an exponential rate though, and before he even has a moment to think, it starts pouring, raining buckets down on them. Alfie wraps his hands around Tommy’s head, tilting it as he flounders in an attempt at looking for a shelter. 

Tommy grabs his wrists and sticks them to the body of the Bentley. “Stay put.” he orders. 

Tommy’s not, however, in any position to rule the roost, and yet, well, his stare is so daunting and sinful, that when he looks up, Alfie stays still and doesn’t even try to argue.  _ It’s here and now _ , his pupils say. His long wet locks stick to his forehead, as Tommy’s muscles are sculpting under his damp white cotton shirt, fitting over his skin and becoming more and more transparent. Why would Alfie go to any other place, where this breathtaking sight wasn't playing out before his eyes? It would be a waste of his precious time, being deprived of such an enticing spectacle.

If Alfie wasn’t ready to catch death for Tommy’s dazzling eyes, he could shake his wrists from Tommy’s firm hold... with ease. It’s a false —but satisfying— impression of control that Tommy must have. The pretty idiot probably had enough strength to get away from that filthy bar counter at the Garrison, and maybe, just maybe, that’s what is even more appealing. Knowing that Tommy could‘ve escaped from his grip if he really tried, and just willingly decided to comply. As if he wanted to be held and pinned against a counter like a good boy.

Alfie smiles slightly at the thought, remembering their pleasures from the past. His fingers scratch over the Bentley as he actively resists the urge to grip Tommy's hair instead. He might be rough sometimes, especially with some  _ activities _ , but he's also a thoughtful lover . 

“Well, Tommy, you did prove me wrong last time. You know, about your ability at appreciating a nice metaphor, but this dessert metaphor was very, very poor. A nasty one mate, it is, and you, if I may say so, should really stay away from meta-” Alfie growls again as Tommy takes him back in his mouth, maintaining his dark and obscene gaze as Alfie’s dick slowly disappears between his lips. A teasingly slow, hot and wet trail around his too stiff cock, and it feels like a holy relief.

Rain pours down Tommy’s face, circling around his mouth due to its…  _ fullness _ . Alfie can’t look elsewhere. He’s obsessed with the motions of his lips and God forbid he looks at anything else, which would be a fucking disappointment, and vain as well with this blissful sight playing before his eyes.

“Cause it’s a shame you know, it’s a real shame that this mouth wastes an insane amount of precious time being empty, right? It sure is, mate. It sure is so, so much better when your lovely mouth’s full, don’t you think, treacle?”

Tommy moans around his cock, while his fist tightens his grip on it, and he tastes Alfie even more eagerly.

“Yeah, I know, you can’t fucking talk right now, innit?” Alfie sneers teasingly. He’s deadly curious to see how far he can push him, how much he can tolerate before his consuming pride can’t handle it anymore.

Tommy’s tongue stalls, and Alfie can see the debate in his eyes. He looks like he’s tossing between pulling off to show who rules this exchange and proving his fucking point, this important underlying attitude he stubbornly keeps maintaining. Tommy opts for a not that bad —if you ask Alfie— last warning look.  _ It’s cute _ . 

_ He’s trying, innit? _

_ Truly endearing. _

The nasty cold of the rain mixes with the warmth of Tommy's mouth in a strange exhilarating feeling. Tommy knows what he’s doing. It’s fucking delicious, and tight, and sweet, but his hands are trembling around the base of his cock.

Tommy’s shivering from cold, the idiot is going to catch his fucking death, trying to prove  _ something, _ and on top of that, to God-Knows-Who, because that’s certainly not Alfie who’d be impressed by this little demonstration. He must admit that it’s quite unnerving that he needs to take care of his basic needs, like he’s a fucking child. Someone has to do it though, eh?

Alright, this show has gone on long enough. This silly little game must come to an end. He has to say that the reign of his bold tiny monarch had been sort of entertaining at first, but if he thinks about it carefully, —without being blinded by the distracting desire he suffers from—, Alfie has  _ fucking  _ seen enough. 

Alfie drags his hands towards Tommy’s shoulders and tries to pull him off. Tommy puts his hands in the tender crook of Alfie’s elbows, pushing back as he speeds up sucking to apply force in the other way. And yeah, it’s fucking tempting to allow him to continue.

_ What the fuck has gotten into him? _

_ Stubborn little thing. _

Alfie forces him on his feet, to fucking stand. He has to use all his strength and Tommy doesn’t seem so pleased, but he manages it, and finally wraps one hand around Tommy’s chin, making him look.

“Hmm. Yeah, alright, Tommy, you’re a fucking tough guy, but the question is, who do you put on that show for, if it’s not only for yourself? Well, mate, we both know how these things end, don’t we? No need to fake it around me, alright?”

Tommy just casually shrugs. 

Now, he’s going to pretend that he didn't do all that  _ on purpose _ , just to be annoying, like he doesn’t fucking know what Alfie is talking about.  _ Fucking infuriating _ .

Tommy is all wet, long damp locks sticking to his forehead. He swallows thickly and licks his lips, because this bastard knows fully well what he is doing to him. It's all they need to crash their mouths together, opening one under the other, kissing slick and hot, entangling their tongues until they’re lacking air. Alfie hungrily tastes his precome mingled with his lover's usual warm sweetness. His hands wander all over Tommy’s sides as he guides him slowly towards the open door.

Alfie sits in the car, embracing and lifting Tommy’s frame up over himself as he lies down on the front seat. He leans against the closed window on the other side of the car. Tommy will see the beautiful coast when he comes.  _ How thoughtful of him _ , Alfie dares to think. Tommy, coming all over as he watches the divine anger that manhandles the sea, it feels somewhat biblical. 

Tommy kneels over Alfie, one leg on either side of his stomach. His damp clothes drip on Alfie and Tommy has to twist his neck, probably uncomfortably in Alfie’s opinion, in order to fit into the confined space. Alfie drags Tommy’s hips along his own body, and circles his arms around his thighs to lift him next to his mouth.

He pets Tommy’s sides, nuzzling against the erection in his tight pants, stained from the damp earth on the knees. The sudden attention to Tommy’s neglected cock seems to have tamed the wild animal in him. Alfie keeps his head low, until he looks up as he unbuttons his pants. Then, he mouths teasingly his cock through his underwear, keeping eye contact with Tommy, hungry for more.

He starts rubbing his cock against Alfie’s face, looking for more instant friction. Alfie knows it feels good, even if the position doesn’t look comfortable. He knows Tommy’s knees must ache, his neck is twisted in a funny way, and when he flinches or jerks, his head hits lightly the roof of the car, but it’s worth it. Alfie watches as a soothed look whispers across Tommy’s face, his thighs begin easing as well. Tommy sinks sweetly into his embrace, seeming to fall to his soft touches. Alfie’s lips soothing the tightness hidden in his chest and the one growing between his thighs. 

The bench seat is really not large enough and Tommy’s right knee is slipping in the gap. Alfie tightens the grip on his thighs to help him avoid falling, but he knows he can’t hold him like that for long. Tommy backs off, leaning in to lie on Alfie’s chest instead. It’s not as graceful as what Tommy’s used to, but the confined space drastically restricts their movement.

Alfie’s hand makes its way down Tommy’s body, lingering on the parts he knows Tommy likes to be touched on. His nipple, his nice waist, the hollow of his hip… When he reaches his hard-on, Alfie doesn’t waste time. He grasps it, pulling it out of his underwear. He strokes it gently against his own, until he takes both of them in his hand.

Tommy tightens his grip on Alfie’s shirt. Alfie watches as his rigid self-control slips away, melting like ice. It trickles through his fingers and drips down his arms. He hears a whine building in the back of Tommy’s throat, threatening to escape his lips. His walls are falling one by one and his face is crumbling a little more with every breath.

_ Sweet pretty little thing. _

A lightning bolt rips across the sky, bright above the sea. A flash of white light shines suddenly in the interior of the car and the thunder roars an instant later.

“Do you hear, treacle? Sounds like I could keep you all to myself tonight.” Alfie mutters in the shell of Tommy’s ear, hoping to be convincing. 

Tommy rolls his hips violently as a reply, sliding his cock quicker into Alfie’s fist and rubbing harshly against his own. It’s all they need to moan. A soft little sound ripped from their chests, by the intense soothing and satisfying pleasure.

“It’s just a bit of rain…” Tommy answers, voice a little broken and hoarse from lack of use. 

Alfie isn’t in the mood for this kind of obstination. He’s well aware that Tommy could be serious about this and he doesn’t want to ruin the floating atmosphere they’re hovering in. He might as well forget about it, ignoring how he’ll wake up in cold sheets tomorrow. He’ll ignore that Tommy actually spoke and dove into the intimate space they’re sharing right now. He’d rather grab the moment with both hands, stealing it for himself if he has to. 

“I’ll lay you on my desk, holding your hands over your lovely head, with only lightning to illuminate how pretty you are when you moan.”

Tommy moans in response, far louder than he must’ve intended, as he hides his face in Alfie’s neck.

“Hmm, I know, it sounds delicious. Let me take care of you tonight, Tommy.” Alfie whispers.

Tommy muffles a whine in the crook of his neck and Alfie desperately wants to see Tommy’s face wrinkle under his touches. He  _ needs _ to see.

Alfie grasps his jaw on instinct, not so gently but kind enough not to hurt, and drags his face in front of his own. Tommy's biting his lips, trying to contain his moans. He’s gnawing so hard on the flesh that Alfie wouldn't be surprised if he fucking ripped it.

"Well, what if you stop biting your lips like a mad man, sweetheart? Let's face it, it doesn't suit you the slightest,” _ which is almost a lie if Alfie's being honest, because everything suits Tommy _ , “and I wanna hear the filthy noises that come from these lovely lips." Alfie says, widening his eyes.

Tommy releases them but instantly nips at Alfie's bottom lip instead. The movement of his hand down on their bodies stops, as a faint taste of blood flows in his mouth. It's defiant. Alfie pretty well knows that. He's demonstrating that he can play by Alfie's rules and still do whatever the fuck he wants. 

Alfie studies him closely as he retreats, then slides his fingers over Tommy's skin, from his jaw to his throat, and wraps his hand around it. He’s not pressing. It's just a touch, a presence, remembering him what it's like to be held.

“Keep talking.” Tommy dares hastily. 

Tommy tried, Alfie will give him that. He tried to make that sound like an order. Well, he probably thought he’d been firm with Alfie, as though he was the authority figure here. The silly boy had fucking mewled it though! He really wants Alfie to believe, just like that, without a single word to the wise, that he hadn’t been begging beautifully for it.  _ How fucking rude! _

Alfie gently tightens his grip on his throat and drags him closer, their noses slotting together and their lips brush against each other with every move, as faint and soft as their breathing. He wants Tommy to feel the tender caress he offers when Alfie finally talks. 

“I promise I will take care of you.”

Alfie knows it’s not what Tommy meant when he asked him to keep talking, but he’d have to be diseased and mad before he became predictable. He moves his hand around both of their cocks again, because he doesn’t want to deprive his own any longer from the exhilarating feeling. He could let go of Tommy’s, to show him he could do it, just because he can, and yet, they both gasp on each other’s lips at the fervent motion. The intimacy they’re sharing right now feels so much more valuable than the amusement that would emerge from his sweet frustration. 

“You seem to like that… being taken care of.” Alfie whispers, his lips against Tommy’s, soft and hot. “You seem to like it when I touch you down there… _ like that. _ ”

Tommy meets his lips to shush him, breaking the thin separation. 

It’s sloppy and messy. It’s a combination of wet tongues swirling against each other, teeth clashing, dirty breaths and sweat sticking to their skin. Tommy rocks his hips in his fist in sinful languid moves. Alfie can perceive Tommy’s ass, waving in a smooth and natural dance. It’s close to art. He would frame the mouth-watering image, if the occasion would present itself, and hang it in the most appropriate place of his peaceful country house. Maybe it would face his bed, or his bathtub? Tommy’s face at the discovery would be quite a sight, Alfie is absolutely certain of it, but not as much as the all-consuming expression he’s facing as Tommy parts from their kiss.

Tommy fights so much against his own body, and Alfie finds the sight of it, even more delightful. He’s already too far gone, with his half-lidded eyes filled with ecstasy and his partially open panting mouth. He’s leaking all over the place, making Alfie’s dick slippery and wet and dangerously pleased. He’s so close. So fucking close. 

His body is begging for release, so Alfie quickens the pace of his fist and sits up to thrust his hips harder. Tommy gasps in between Alfie’s ragged breaths, moaning when Tommy adds his own around their cocks. And fuck, the extra pressure feels amazing. It’s even better when Tommy’s hand starts moving, imitating Alfie’s rhythm.

“Fuck, you’re so good. So fucking good for me.” Alfie growls in his ear. It looks like the fact that he’s saying it out loud only amplifies the powerful statement. It makes it sound more real and intense. 

Their thrusts get more and more excessive, panting and moaning and whining, all mingling into one whole mess of noises of ecstacy. Alfie grabs Tommy’s right hip with his free hand, digging his nails in and guiding the beautiful motion of his hips. Tommy wraps his arm around Alfie for more leverage and buries his face in his neck, panting hard and moaning loudly as he cums all over their stomachs.

Everything slips, wet and hot and too fucking much. A rush of pleasure burns in Alfie’s lower stomach, spilling throughout his body. He follows Tommy quickly after, all these pretty fucking noises he’s making pushing him over the edge.

Alfie moaned  _ his _ name several times throughout his orgasm, or at least he thinks he did.

*

Tommy seemed to have forgotten about Mosley for a bit, and Alfie intended to make remembering him a challenge throughout the night. The storm was dancing with a gracious strength and following their violent tempo, thundering with every passionate move they make, as if there was lost time to make up. They fucked in the car again, and again, until the thunder was only a faint memory and Alfie could fulfill his secret promise. 

*

In his post-orgasm haze, as the warmth leaves his body and his breathing slows down, he sees Tommy light a cigarette with his moist box of matches. He tries three times before finally succeeding. A little burning light shines in the dark passenger seat, the wisp of smoke spins between them, covering up the fact that they smell like wet dogs.

Alfie slumps in the driver’s seat and tilts his hand through the car window, the heavy downpour cleaning the traces of their shared pleasure. Their clothes are loosely put back, shirts wide open and flies unzipped. Cum and rain mixed on the fabrics, everything sticks.

A piece of red silk lies around on the seat between them. Tommy cleaned his stomach with the soaked soft handkerchief, or pocket square, or whatever the fuck posh bastards like Tommy call those things.

Tommy holds his cigarette between his lips and wipes the steam from the car window as he peers out. The sea is agitated by the pouring rain. The storm rumbles far away and the waves crash against the coast, sweeping over time softened rocks and embracing their shape. Faint lighting illuminates his face on and off as the storm ebbs. 

“I’ve just had an idea.” Tommy says, out of the blue, taking his cigarette back between his fingers. “Do you think some of your jewish friends could start a riot at a fascist rally?” he asks, drawing his eyebrows up in a serious frown, as his face glows in the light of his cigarette, burning as he takes a drag.

“Well, yeah, mate, if you ask me. For a good price, probably.”

Tommy relaxes. The tightness in his constricted chest eases with a puff, the slow exhale of smoke an attempt to cover up the real reason of the sudden release of air leaving his lungs.

“Fine.” he just says.

“Fine, then.”

It’s deadly calm in the car. As if they left their stormy arguments and Tommy’s tears outside, with the rough cold wind and the roaring thunder, and yeah, they’re now expressing themselves on their own, leaving their anger and getting it off their back.

“So, you like it when I talk, well, then I’ll keep talking.” Alfie adds, breaking the silence he’s uncomfortable to let hanging. Because, yeah, anyone could tell it’s becoming bloody awkward again and he’s never sure with Tommy, if the boy is actually giving him the cold shoulder or just acts on his typical daily nonsense.

“Oh, fuck off.” Tommy manages to say, after choking on smoke. 

“You weren’t that irritated with my gift for subtle word play a few-”

“Let’s go inside. ’m cold.” Tommy cuts him off sharply.

Alfie can see the shadow of his fingers, outlined by the distant stormy light, shivering around the stick of his cigarette.

“Will you stay?”

A silence hangs in the air for a few instant.

“Your office must be warm.” Tommy says calmly, ignoring Alfie’s comment.

He waits a few moments, impassively looking at the foggy windshield, until he peeks at Alfie from the corner of his eyes and a smirk cracks across his lips. 

_ When he smiles like this, his face is like the sun. A thinning in any dark and stormy sky. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a HUGE thank you to @tinypinetrees for betaing and giving me the strenght to post! <3
> 
> (How I picture Alfie’s place in Margate : https://images.app.goo.gl/TCgV6KqqcN9RrH9h6 )
> 
> I hope you liked it (since it's only my second time writing smut, now I think about it)!


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